


Trouble

by formalizing



Series: Tumblr Writing [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Talk, Feminization, M/M, Sam In Panties, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: He’s got a stash of heart-shaped suckers that keep his mouth redder than the worn-down label of his strawberry Lip Smackers, his tongue tasting like long-lost cherries.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://all-these-formalities.tumblr.com/post/139351523334/sam-is-the-worst-kind-of-trouble-hes-the).

Sam is the worst kind of trouble. He’s the sweetest sixteen, just can’t keep his lips or his legs together.

He’s got a stash of heart-shaped suckers that keep his mouth redder than the worn-down label of his strawberry Lip Smackers, his tongue tasting like long-lost cherries. When dad’s gone, he likes to paint his nails in colors like blackberry dream and bubblegum bliss.

He is hard candy, cavity-sweet, burrowed in so deep that Dean will never be free from the ache of him. He trails sticky sugar-heart stains down Dean’s neck, says he looks good in his kisses.

“Can I kiss you here?” he whispers when he traces the head of Dean’s cock above the waistband of his sweats, fingers tipped a shade called ‘raspberry sparkle’.

Sam’s got dimples in his cheeks by a little mouth that looks cute around a lie, already slick but smiling like it’s never been full of come.

That smile looks best split wide around the base of Dean’s dick while his throat makes sticky sounds and those pretty hands clench fists in Dean’s shirt.

He’ll have to scrape and pick the polish off his fingernails before dad gets back, but he’ll leave the color on his toes—the bottle calls it ‘harlot scarlet’. Dean’ll get half-hard and think wet thoughts every time a hint of red peeks teasingly at him through the holes in threadbare socks.

–

Sam likes calculated risks, likes it when the fucking’s frantic because they’re one minute, one second, one breath in the dark away from getting caught.

He likes it when Dad’s just downstairs with his hangover strong coffee, shouting that Sam’s going to be late for school, but Dean’s got two slippery fingers stretching his hole, sliding over the spot that makes his toes curl. In five minutes, there’ll be heavy footfalls starting up the steps, but Sam’s gasps into his pillow are just a moment away from sobs, so Dean presses another tight inside, drives them deep just to hear him turn desperate.

He likes it even more when Dad’s just in the _next bed_ , and it’s not a calculated risk anymore, it’s fucking asking for trouble with every screaming creak of ancient bedsprings under them. But Sam’s rocking back into his lap, has Dean’s cock tucked between his thighs where it’s snug and warm, and he’s mouthing ‘please’ around the fingers pressing his tongue firm to the floor of his jaw. So Dean licks a thick, wet line over his palm, slips his other hand under the sheets with a silent prayer.

He likes it when they’re face-to-face so Sam can leave vicious purple bite marks that Dean has to give a name to.

Dad calls him a skirt chaser with a half-grin that says ‘that’s my boy’.

Dean wonders what he’d think if he knew his other boy collects those girl-names like they’re his own. He wonders if dad would’ve picked his words better if he knew that Dean’s favorite skirt is the flirt-red one Sam stole from his friend’s closet three towns back; it only reaches halfway to his knees and is filthy with Dean’s handprints because Sam never makes him chase it.

–

Sam only wears throw-away cheap panties because he knows they’ll wind up stretched out from being pulled too rough to the side, stained beyond repair. When he’s in them, he wants to be just as disposable as they are.

“Harder,” is what he’ll always beg, even if he’s already fucked swollen and sore around Dean’s dick. “Fuck me like you’re never gonna see me again.”

Sam’s got a porno-mouth when you pound him just right. If Dean’s got his little, flat chest pressed hard to the Impala’s leather with two hands heavy on his shoulders—knees bent, feet slipping as his cotton-covered cock rides the seat with every thrust—he’ll moan like he’s being paid to do it; his yes sir, no ma’am mouth will drop the word ‘fuck’ like a comma in between each pretty please.

“Gonna do you like I did my prom date,” Dean pants into his ear, doesn’t slow the unrelenting slap of his hips against Sam’s ass for even a second. “Send y’home with a load in your cunt and your panties missing. Lose your number, forget your name.”

“Oh, _fuck_ , ohfuck, Dean.”

“Gotta be a good, though. Y’know how I like to wreck a good girl,” Sam nods frantically, moans and clings red-desperate with his nails to the arm Dean wraps around his neck, a hand tight over his mouth. “Good girls say please and thank you, baby.”

The words Sam slurs against his fingers when Dean palms his cock through damp fabric might be ‘please,’ or they might just be his brother’s name on repeat.

“Go on and cream these pretty pink panties for me,” he growls, putting teeth to the back of Sam’s neck. “Get ‘em good and messy. Wanna feel that pussy squeezin’ my cock for all it’s worth.”

Sam does as he’s told, ruins them like every pair he’s worn before, and even though he’s worn-out and spent, he still groans like he might get hard again when he feels Dean fill him up. He loves when he drips with it, when Dean has to force it back inside with his fingers just to keep the evidence off the leather.

“What do good girls say, Sammy?”

Sam’s voice is choir girl soft and pink as his bitten lips as he breathes, “Thank you.”

When dad finds those panties balled up under the seat, he doesn’t seem to notice the stains are in the wrong place. Sam collects another name, and Dean calls this one Candy.

Sam is the best kind of trouble, the kind Dean can’t stop getting into.


End file.
